08.19.2006
things we tell ourselves
So the thing is, I'm tired of thinking. I complain about it all the time, especially in the last few years. It makes living very difficult. In the last few years since my gall bladder surgery, everything's changed. I now look at my life and wonder why I do the things I've always done, and wonder if I really was being who I said I was being, or whether I was just running or hiding from other things I didn't want to think about. And there's no good answer. My gut instinct says I wasn't hiding/running, but why should I trust myself? I'm not objective about me. Duh.
The easiest answer is that being fat was always an emotional problem, that I overcompensated for being fat by volunteering, being smart, and trying hard to be the kind of person I want to be. But that seems too easy. Occam's razor doesn't hold water for me with things like this. Maybe I watch too much House, always looking for the unusual or far-out answer. But I really think that the surgery changed something. A series of brand-new issues sprung up from it, one of which was that being fat really does SUCK. I'm not saying it was a picnic before, but I am so sick of it. It could be a product of getting older, too. I'm in a sedentary job and I feel stuck, but philosophically and physically, only my own weight is keeping me there. I can move across the country. I could take that trip to Europe. I have the finances to be able to do these things, if I wanted. I tell myself I have to pay off my debt, etc. but who's making me? Only me.
So. So we come back to (again) the only thing stopping me from doing the things I want is me. Now, why? Because I'm fat? Maybe. What if it's not because I'm fat? What if I'm fat because of the something else that makes me so insanely thoughtful? Do I harbor grudges because my mom never hugged me and my dad bailed? Yawn. It's not interesting. But sometimes I have to face the facts that as much as I long to be interesting or to have not-normal problems, I'm probably just as normal as anyone else. Sigh.
All this mental gymnastics just leads to me to believe more than ever that I am in control of what happens to me(excluding external events, of course). Meaning, I determine my emotions. Now, when Phil broke up with me, did that suck? Yes. Was I irrationally angry for longer than felt necessary? Yes. Do I wonder if Sean thinks about me? Yes. I have problems. I know that. I want to not have problems, but that's never going to happen. I might as well be okay with the little ones (like wondering about Sean) and change the big ones (like being fat) if I can.
The brief list of things it's hard to admit:
1. I hate my job and I feel like I'm wasting my talents on stupid bullshit.
2. I'm fat and it affects everything else about me.
3. I still think about Sean.
4. I still want Phil's recipe for "Phil's Phenomenon" and I think about calling him at least once a month for it.
5. I'm whiny and normal(not cause and effect, although it could be).
6. I won't be a different person once I'm not fat anymore, no matter how much I wish I will be. I'll probably be just as miserable, just about different things. And that's okay, too. Miserable's still miserable, so no shock of change there.
7. Sometimes I hate everyone I love. Sometimes it's very frequently.
8. I may never write a book or go anywhere cool or get the appreciation I think I deserve.
9. I might always be miserable if I never figure out what's really wrong with me.
10. I hope someone else reads this besides me.
If I ever write a book, it will be called "Things We Tell Ourselves." My steam ran out. I have more stuff rattling around, but I can't grab onto it. Maybe later.
alannablue at 4:39 p.m.